Told you not to worry, but maybe that's a lie
Thal knows she's made more than one mistake in her own short, remembered life - gods know there's not enough time or paper to work through that list - but it doesn't make it feel any better to hear the dismissive weigh of his airy breath. It doesn't change the fact that it had only taken one stupid decision to blow everything to smithereens. The only consolation is that he stays, listening despite how he obviously disagrees.
Her lips tighten into something that's not a wince and not a sneer, balking at the claim that the Family still has any hold on her. A dread settles in her gut, hoping desperately that he's wrong, that whatever demigod ability he has is wrong. She swallows her argument along with the acidic taste on her tongue, ignoring it as she holds what little ground she has. "No, I just think you're a heartless bastard for knowing the truth and choosing to taunt me while I was living in hell."
But the memories are just as overwhelming, and even more damning without the violent haze to soften the guilt. It's a mercy that he looks away when he does, granting her just enough space to shove some of the threadbare pieces of panic back into a tidy corner where he can't see. Thal is just taking a regular breath when he leans forward, drawing her attention to the darkness that lines his form, the silk curtains parting for her to see the shadows in his eyes, the emotion as he corrects her. She doesn't flinch or back down from the growl that vibrates the space between them. She straightens her spine more, the trauma shining bright in her eyes when she uses what strengths she's gathered to hiss through the clench of her jaw. "Then don't pretend to know why everything you said sounded more like a declaration of war than an offer for help." Although even as the words leave her mouth, she knows they're wrong, because he'd never once indicated that he wanted to help. All he'd done was tell her how unbearable her infection was, somehow thinking that drowning her in truth and baiting her was going to magically make her want to be cured.
Blue eyes track his every twitching movement, every flicker of the shadows at his heels, wondering what exactly he's holding back and why. She doesn't have time to ask the question when he's slapping the word 'victim' in her face like a label, something she'd said to Maea before, something she never wanted to be. It has her sucking in a breath, her words a seething whisper as she fights the mental image of her broken spirit cradled in Asta's arms. "I'm not a victim - not when everything's my fault - " she lets out a forced self-deprecating laugh that's barely more than a huff of air that trembles in her chest, knocking against all the self-hatred and hidden fears that weigh heavy in her eyes as she levels them on him, daring him to argue when she adds pointedly, "but you're still an asshole." Her finger pokes accusingly into his looming chest, not deflecting or absolving herself or him. Even if her own responses towards Vesper had been those of a caged animal being prodded with a stick, however aggressive or biting she'd been, he continued to stick his fingers through the grate, expecting a different response. She may feel guilty for some of her words or actions, but there was plenty of blame to go around.
Her lips tighten into something that's not a wince and not a sneer, balking at the claim that the Family still has any hold on her. A dread settles in her gut, hoping desperately that he's wrong, that whatever demigod ability he has is wrong. She swallows her argument along with the acidic taste on her tongue, ignoring it as she holds what little ground she has. "No, I just think you're a heartless bastard for knowing the truth and choosing to taunt me while I was living in hell."
But the memories are just as overwhelming, and even more damning without the violent haze to soften the guilt. It's a mercy that he looks away when he does, granting her just enough space to shove some of the threadbare pieces of panic back into a tidy corner where he can't see. Thal is just taking a regular breath when he leans forward, drawing her attention to the darkness that lines his form, the silk curtains parting for her to see the shadows in his eyes, the emotion as he corrects her. She doesn't flinch or back down from the growl that vibrates the space between them. She straightens her spine more, the trauma shining bright in her eyes when she uses what strengths she's gathered to hiss through the clench of her jaw. "Then don't pretend to know why everything you said sounded more like a declaration of war than an offer for help." Although even as the words leave her mouth, she knows they're wrong, because he'd never once indicated that he wanted to help. All he'd done was tell her how unbearable her infection was, somehow thinking that drowning her in truth and baiting her was going to magically make her want to be cured.
Blue eyes track his every twitching movement, every flicker of the shadows at his heels, wondering what exactly he's holding back and why. She doesn't have time to ask the question when he's slapping the word 'victim' in her face like a label, something she'd said to Maea before, something she never wanted to be. It has her sucking in a breath, her words a seething whisper as she fights the mental image of her broken spirit cradled in Asta's arms. "I'm not a victim - not when everything's my fault - " she lets out a forced self-deprecating laugh that's barely more than a huff of air that trembles in her chest, knocking against all the self-hatred and hidden fears that weigh heavy in her eyes as she levels them on him, daring him to argue when she adds pointedly, "but you're still an asshole." Her finger pokes accusingly into his looming chest, not deflecting or absolving herself or him. Even if her own responses towards Vesper had been those of a caged animal being prodded with a stick, however aggressive or biting she'd been, he continued to stick his fingers through the grate, expecting a different response. She may feel guilty for some of her words or actions, but there was plenty of blame to go around.
Thalassa
Honey, what's your hurry? Won't you stay inside?
